And it came to pass that in the year of our Lord 2010, during the second year of the reign of King Osama Obama, Payson’s Main Street was revived. The Pelosi had caused a great stimulus throughout the land and using the gold of unborn children had caused to be constructed on the Main Street of Payson a shelter for prostitutes, an abortion clinic, and a great multi event center where enemies of the state could be fed to the javelinas.
The Lord was not pleased and spoke with Hark, the Herald Angel. “Hark, find someone to build an ark. “I shall cause a flood to wipe out these infidels.”
So it came to pass that Hark sought among the people for a righteous man to build the Lord’s ark. Tucked away in a cabin on Frontier Street was an old cowboy named Buck. The cowboy was a far cry from being a saint, but by earthly standards he was a shade above most of the town folks on the mortal-moral register. He had always helped his neighbors. He understood animals and was kind to them. He had never intentionally hurt anyone. He had always produced far more goods than he consumed, but had never enjoyed the fruits of his labor because the King and the Pelosi had collected his produce yearly and distributed it unto the couch potatoes.
One day Buck was trimming a foot on his donkey when he heard a mighty voice like rumbling thunder speak his name. “Buck! Hark unto me!”
“What was that you said, Ma?” queried Buck, lookin’ around for his wife.
“No, Buck,” thundered the voice again, “It is me — Hark, Hark the Herald Angel. The Lord sent me to tell you that you are to build an ark. You must then gather the animals two by two and load them onto the ark, as in the days of Noah. In six-months the Lord will cause it to rain and drown all who have not taken sanctuary on the ark.”
Lightning flashed and a set of blueprints for an ark smoldered in Buck’s hands. “OK,” said Buck, trembling in awe and fumbling with the specifications, “I’ll get the boys and we’ll jump right on it.”
Thunder clapped again and Hark reiterated, “You must carry out the Lord’s instructions without delay,” and with that the angel was gone.
Six months passed and Hark found Buck in the Payson dungeon awaiting his turn with the javelinas. “Buck, you are a slovenly servant. The Lord is going to be sorely displeased with you. You have forsaken his work to languish away here in jail while the clouds have commenced to gather.”
“Hark!” cried Buck. “Me and the boys done our best. Things are not like they was in the old days. First, I had to get a building permit for the ark construction project and the Payson building inspectors told me your plans wasn’t up to code. They said a boat constructed in that shoddy manner couldn’t possibly withstand a flood. The new plans come in way over budget. I couldn’t get a loan at the bank because the bailout money they got from the government went to the corporation executives.
“I borrowed the money from a neighbor, but the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission held up the project for three months because I refused to hire the Venetian blind. Then the IRS stepped in and seized my donkey and my small assets claiming I was trying to avoid paying taxes by building a boat to transfer my funds to an off-shore account.
“I didn’t have any funds, so I tried to get a permit from the Forest Service to cut some timber for the ark, but they said they were burning the forest to create rat and sidewinder habitat. We moon-lighted the timber, but then some of my neighbors filed papers with the town accusing me of violating a zoning ordinance by running a sawmill in my yard.
“An animal rights group found some of the critters I’d gathered in a little holding pasture west of town and sued me for not having them, uh, fixed. While I was fighting that, the EPA filed an injunction saying I couldn’t complete the ark without an environmental impact study on your proposed flood. I asked them what made them think they had jurisdiction over the conduct of a Supreme Being, and that’s when they landed me in here.”
Hark appeared somewhat taken aback. “I shall have to report this to the Lord,” he told Buck.
“What do you think he’ll do?” asked the old cowboy.
“Considering your total loss of freedom here, He may decide to use it as a half-way house to hell.”
Como Siempré, Jinx